immortals_of_meluha_-_amish_tripathi

bleeding. Then he quickly helped the injured foreign woman move closer to the royal party.
‘Father, are you alright?’ whispered Sati as she held her father’s hand.
‘Dammit, Sati!’ shouted Daksha. What do you think you were doing?’
Sati fell silent at the violent response from her doting father.
‘Who asked you to be a hero?’ harangued Daksha, fuming at his daughter. ‘What if

something had happened to you? What would I do? Where would I go? And for whom were
you risking your life? What difference does the life of that woman make?’

Sati continued to look down, distraught at the scolding. She had been expecting praise. The
crossing-house soldiers and paramedics rushed to the scene. With efficient movements, they
quickly stemmed the flow of Daksha’s blood. Dressing Parvateshwar’s and Sati’s minor wounds
rapidly, they carried Daksha on a stretcher. His wounds needed attention from the royal
physician.

As Sati saw her father being carried away, she stayed rooted, deeply guilty at the harm her
actions had caused. She was only trying to save a woman in distress. Wasn’t it one of Lord
Ram’s primary teachings that it is the duty of the strong to protect the weak? She felt a soft
touch on her shoulder. She turned to face Captain Parvateshwar, her father’s severe
bodyguard. Strangely though, his face sported a rare smile.

‘I am proud of you, my child,’ whispered Parvateshwar. You are a true follower of Lord
Ram.’

Tears suddenly burst in Sati’s eyes. She looked away quickly. Taking time to control herself
she looked up with a wan smile at the man she would grow to call Pitratulya. She nodded
softly.

Jolted back into the present by a bird call, Parvateshwar scanned the perimeter, his eyes
moist at the ancient memory. He clutched his hands in a prayer and whispered, ‘She’s your true
follower, Lord Ram. Fight for her.’

Shiva had lost track of time. Obviously, nobody had been assigned to reset the prahar
lamps when so many lives were still in danger. Looking out of the window, he could see early
signs of dawn. Shiva’s wounds burned, crying for relief. But he wasn’t going to give in. He sat
quietly on his chair, next to Sati’s bed, restraining himself from making any noise that would
disturb her. Sati held his hand tightly. Despite the searing heat of her feverish body, Shiva did
not move his hands away. His palms were sweaty due to the intense heat.

He looked longingly at Sati and softly whispered, ‘Either you stay here or I leave this world
with you. The choice is yours.’

He felt a slight twitch. He looked down to see Sati’s hand move slightly, allowing the sweat
to slide from between their entwined palms. It was almost impossible to say where the sweat
came from.

Is it Sati’s or mine?
Shiva immediately reached out with his other hand towards Sati’s forehead. It was burning
even more strongly. But there were soft beads of perspiration on the temple. A burst of elation
shot through Shiva’s being.

‘By the great Lord Brahma,’ whispered Ayurvati in awe. ‘I have never seen anything like this.’
She was standing besides Sati’s bed. The still sleeping Sati was sweating profusely, her
garments and bed soaked. Parvateshwar stood by her side, his face aglow with hope.
‘The agnibaan fever never breaks,’ continued a stunned Ayurvati. ‘This is a miracle.’
Shiva looked up, his face shimmering with the ecstasy of a soul that had salvaged its reason
for existence. ‘May the Holy Lake bless the Somras.’
Parvateshwar noticed Sati’s hand clutched tightly in Shiva’s but he did not comment. The
bliss of this moment had finally crowded out his instinctive drive to stop something unacceptable
under the laws of the land.
‘My Lord,’ said Ayurvati softly. ‘We must bathe her quickly. The sweat must be removed.
However, considering that her wounds cannot get wet, my nurses will have to rub her down.’
Shiva looked up at Ayurvati and nodded, not understanding the implication.
‘Umm, my Lord,’ said Ayurvati. ‘That means you will have to leave the room.’
‘Of course,’ said Shiva.
As he got up to leave, Ayurvati said, ‘My Lord, your hands would need to be washed as
well.’
Shiva looked down, noticing Sati’s sweat. He looked up at Ayurvati and nodded, ‘I will do so
immediately.’

‘This is a miracle, Sati. Nobody has ever recovered from an agnibaan!’ said Ayurvati,
beaming ear to ear. ‘I’ll be honest. I had given up hope. It was the Lord’s faith that has kept you
alive.’

Sati was lying on her bed wearing a smile and freshly washed clothes. A new bed had been
brought in with freshly laundered and sterilised linen. All traces of the toxic sweat triggered by
the Somras had been removed.

‘Oh no,’ said a self-conscious Shiva. ‘I did nothing. It was Sati’s fighting spirit that saved her.’
‘No, Shiva. It was you. Not me,’ said Sati, holding Shiva’s hand without any hint of
tentativeness. ‘You have saved me at so many levels. I don’t know how I can even begin to
repay you.’
‘By never saying again that you have to repay me.’
Sati smiled even more broadly and held Shiva’s hand tighter. Parvateshwar looked on
gloomily at both of them, now unhappy at the open display of their love.
‘All right,’ said Ayurvati, clapping her hands together as if to signal the end of an episode.
‘Much as I would like to sit here and chitchat with all of you, I have work to do.’
‘What work?’ asked Shiva playfully. ‘You are a brilliant doctor. You have an exceptional
team. I know that every single injured person has been saved. There is nothing more for you to
do.’
‘Oh there is, my Lord,’ said Ayurvati with a smile. ‘I have to put on record how the Somras
can cure an agnibaan wound. I will present this at the medical council as soon as I return to

Devagiri. This is big news. We must research the curative properties of the Somras. There is a
lot of work to do!’

Shiva smiled fondly at Ayurvati.
Sati whispered, ‘Thank you Ayurvatiji. Like thousands of others, I too owe my life to you.’
‘You owe me nothing, Sati. I only did my duty.’
Ayurvati bowed with a formal namaste and left the room.
‘Well, even I...,’ mumbled Parvateshwar awkwardly, as he walked out.
Parvateshwar was surprised to find Ayurvati waiting for him outside. She was standing at a
safe distance from the guards. Whatever it was that she wanted to talk about, she did not want
the others to hear.
‘What is it, Ayurvati?’ asked Parvateshwar.
‘I know what’s bothering you Parvateshwar,’ said Ayurvati.
‘Then how can you just stand by and watch? I don’t think it is right. I know that this is not the
correct time to say anything. But I will raise the issue when appropriate.’
‘No, you shouldn’t’
‘How can you say that?’ asked a shocked Parvateshwar. ‘You come from a rare family
which did not have even one renegade Brahmin during the rebellion. Lord Ram insisted that the
laws had to be followed strictly. He demonstrated repeatedly that even he wasn’t above the
law. Shiva is a good man. I won’t deny that But he cannot be above the law. Nobody can be
above the law. Otherwise our society will collapse. You above all should know this.’
‘I know only one thing,’ said Ayurvati, determined. ‘If the Neelkanth feels it is right, then it is
right.’
Parvateshwar looked at Ayurvati as if he didn’t recognise her. This could not be the woman
he knew and admired, the woman who followed the law without exception. Parvateshwar had
begun to respect Shiva. But the respect had not turned into unquestioning faith. He did not
believe that Shiva was the one who would complete Lord Ram’s work. In Parvateshwar’s eyes,
only Lord Ram deserved absolute obedience. Nobody else.
‘In any case,’ said Ayurvati, ‘I have to leave. I have a theory to think about.’

‘Really?’ asked Shiva. You mean it is not necessary in Meluha that the Emperor’s first-born
son succeed him?’

‘Yes,’ replied Sati smiling.
Shiva and Sati had spent many hours over the previous week talking about matters
important and mundane. Sati, while recovering quickly, was still bedridden. The convoy had set
up camp at Koonj till such time as the injured were ready to travel. The journey to Lothal had
been called off. Shiva and Parvateshwar had decided that it was better to return to Devagiri as
soon as the wounded were able to.
Sati shifted slightly to relieve a bit of the soreness in her back. But she did not let go of
Shiva’s hand while doing so. Shiva leaned forward and pushed back a strand of hair that had
slipped onto Sati’s face. She smiled lovingly at him and continued, ‘You see, till around two
hundred and fifty years back, the children of the kings were not his birth-children but were
drawn from the Maika system. So there was no question of knowing who the first-born was.

We could only know his first-adopted.’
‘Fair point.’
‘But in addition, it was not necessary that the first-adopted child would succeed. This was

another one of the laws that Lord Ram instituted for stability and peace. You see, in the olden
days there were many royal families, each with their own small kingdoms.’

‘All right,’ said Shiva, paying as much attention to Sati’s words as to the hypnotising dimples
that formed on her cheeks when she spoke. ‘These kings would probably be at war all the time,
so that one of them could be overlord for however short a period.’

‘Obviously,’ smiled Sati, shaking her head at the foolishness of the kings before Lord Ram’s
time.

‘Well, it is the same everywhere,’ said Shiva, remembering the constant warfare in his part
of the world.

‘Battles for supremacy between the kings led to many unnecessary and futile wars, where
the only ones who suffered were the common people,’ continued Sati. ‘Lord Ram felt it was
ridiculous for the people to suffer so that the egos of their kings were fed. He instituted a
system where a Rajya Sabha, the ruling council, consisting of all Brahmins and Kshatriyas of a
specific rank, was created. Whenever the Emperor died or took sanyas, the council would meet
and elect a new Emperor from amongst Kshatriyas of the rank of brigadier or above. The
decision could not be contested and was inviolate.’

‘I have said it before and I’ll say it again,’ said Shiva with a broad smile. ‘Lord Ram was a
genius.’

‘Yes, he was,’ said Sati, enthusiastically. ‘Jai Shri Ram.’
‘Jai Shri Ram,’ repeated Shiva. ‘But tell me, how come your father became the Emperor
after Lord Brahmanayak. After all, his Highness is the first born of the previous Emperor,
correct?’
‘He was elected, just like every other Emperor of Meluha. Actually it was the first time in
Meluhan history that a ruling emperor’s son was elected Emperor,’ said Sati proudly.
‘Hmm. But your grandfather helped your father get elected?’
‘I’ve never been sure about that. I know my grandfather would have liked it if my father had
become Emperor. But I also know that he was a great man who followed the rules of Meluha
and would not openly help his son. Lord Bhrigu, a great sage respected across the land, helped
my father a great deal in his election.’
Shiva smiled at her tenderly running his hand across the side of her face. Sati closed her
eyes, exulting in the sensation. His hand glided along the side of her body to rest on her hand
again. He squeezed it softly.
Shiva was about to ask more about the relationship between Daksha and Lord Bhrigu when
the door suddenly swung open. Daksha, looking deeply exhausted, stormed in. Following him
were Veerini and Kanakhala. Shiva immediately withdrew his hand before Daksha could see
where it was. But Daksha had noticed the movement.
‘Father!’ cried a surprised Sati.
‘Sati, my child,’ sighed Daksha, kneeling next to Sati’s bed. Veerini knelt next to Daksha and
ran her hand lovingly over her daughter’s face. She was crying. Kanakhala remained at the door
and greeted Shiva with a formal namaste. Shiva returned Kanakhala’s namaste with a beaming
smile. Parvateshwar and Ayurvati waited next to Kanakhala, politely leaving the royal family
alone in their private moment. Nandi, Veerbhadra and Krittika stood behind them. A discrete

aide silently brought in two chairs for the royal couple, placed them next to the bed and left just
as quietly.

Daksha, Veerini and Kanakhala, accompanied by two thousand soldiers, had immediately
left Devagiri on hearing the news of Sati’s injury. They had sailed down the Saraswati to the
inland delta of the river and then had ridden night and day to reach Koonj.

‘I am alright, father,’ said Sati, holding her mother’s hand gently. Turning towards her
mother, she continued, ‘Seriously, mother. I am feeling better than ever. Give me one more
week and I’ll dance for you!’

Shiva smiled gently at Sati as Daksha and Veerini broke into a weak laugh.
Looking at her father, Sati continued, ‘I am sorry to have caused so much trouble. I know
there are much more important tasks at hand and you had to rush here.’
‘Trouble?’ asked Daksha. ‘My child, you are my life. You are nothing but a source of joy for
me. And at this point of time, you can’t imagine how proud I am of you.’
Veerini bent over and kissed Sati’s forehead tenderly.
‘I am proud of all of you,’ continued Daksha looking back at Parvateshwar and Ayurvati.
‘Proud that you supported the Lord in what had to be done. We actually fought back a terrorist
attack! You can’t imagine how much this has electrified the nation!’
Daksha soothingly continued to pat Sati’s hand, as he turned to Shiva and said, ‘Thank you,
my Lord. Thank you for fighting for us. We know now that we have put our faith in the right
man.’
Shiva could say nothing but smile awkwardly and acknowledge Daksha’s faith with a slight
nod and a courteous namaste.
Turning to Ayurvati, Daksha asked, ‘How is she now? I was told she is on her way to a total
recovery.’
‘Yes, your Highness,’ said Ayurvati. ‘She should be able to move in another week. And in
three weeks, the only memory of the wound would be a scar.’
‘You are not just the best doctor of this generation, Ayurvati,’ said Daksha proudly. You are
in fact the best doctor of all time.’
‘Oh no, your Highness,’ cried a flabbergasted Ayurvati, holding her ears gently to ward off
the evil spirits that might get angry at an undeserved compliment. ‘There are many far greater
than me. But in this case, the miracle was by the Lord Neelkanth, not me.’
Looking briefly towards a visibly embarrassed Shiva before turning back to Daksha, Ayurvati
continued, ‘I thought we had lost her. She got the terrible fever after we pulled the agnibaan
out. You know that there are no medicines to cure the agnibaan fever, your Highness. But the
Lord refused to lose hope. It was his idea to give her the Somras.’
Daksha turned to Shiva with a grateful smile and said, ‘I have one more thing to thank you
for, my Lord. My daughter is part of my soul. I wouldn’t have been able to survive without her.’
‘Oh no, I did nothing,’ said Shiva, self-conscious. ‘It was Ayurvati who treated her.’
‘It is nothing but your humility speaking, my Lord,’ said Daksha. ‘You truly are a worthy
Neelkanth. In fact, you are a worthy Mahadev!’
An astounded Shiva stared at Daksha, his expression serious. He knew who the previous
Mahadev, the God of Gods, was. He did not believe he deserved to be compared to Lord
Rudra. His deeds did not qualify him for that.
‘No, your Highness. You speak too highly of me. I am no Mahadev.’
‘Oh yes you are, my Lord,’ said Kanakhala and Ayurvati almost simultaneously.







































‘Of course,’ said Parvateshwar, as he moved his chair to the side.
‘The essential problem for us,’ said Parvateshwar, trying to quickly bring Shiva up to date, ‘is
the transport links between Meluha and Swadweep.’
‘There aren’t any, right?’
‘Right,’ answered Parvateshwar. ‘The Chandravanshis followed a “broken earth” policy after
their last defeat at our hands a hundred years back. They destroyed the entire infrastructure
that existed between Meluha and Swadweep. They depopulated their border cities and moved
them deeper into their empire. Forests grew where cities and roads used to be. There is no
river that flows from our territory to theirs. Basically, there is no way for our huge,
technologically superior, war-machines to be transported to the borders of Swadweep.’
‘That was their aim, obviously,’ said Shiva. ‘Your superiority is technology. Their superiority
is their numbers. They have negated your strength.’
‘Exatly. And if our war-machines are taken out of the equation, our one hundred thousand
strong army may get inundated by their million soldiers.’
‘They have a million strong army?’ asked Shiva, incredulous.
‘Yes, my Lord,’ said Vraka. ‘We can’t be absolutely sure, but that is our estimate. However,
we also estimate that the regulars in that army would not be more than a hundred thousand.
The rest would be part-timers. Essentially, people such as small traders, artisans, farmers and
any other without influence. They would be forcibly conscripted and used as cannon fodder.’
‘Disgusting,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘Risking the lives of Shudras and Vaishyas for a job that
should be done by Kshatriyas. Their Kshatriyas have no honour.’
Shiva looked towards Parvateshwar and nodded. ‘Can’t we dismantle our war-machines,
carry them to Swadweep and reassemble them?’
‘Yes we can,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘But that is technically possible only for a few. Our most
devastating machines which would give us the edge, like the long-range catapult, cannot be
assembled outside a factory’
‘The long-range catapult?’
‘Yes,’ answered Parvateshwar. ‘It can hurl huge boulders and smouldering barrels over
distances of over a kilometre. If used effectively, they can soften, even devastate, the enemy
lines before our cavalry and infantry charge. Basically, the role that elephants used to play
earlier.’
‘Then why not use elephants?’
‘They are unpredictable. No matter how long you train them, an army often loses control
over them in the heat of battle. In fact, in the previous war with the Swadweepans, it was their
own elephants who were their downfall.’
‘Really?’ asked Shiva.
‘Yes,’ answered Parvateshwar. ‘Our ploy of firing at the mahouts and generating
tremendous noise with our war drums worked. The Chandravanshi elephants panicked and ran
into their own army, shattering their lines, especially the ones composed of irregulars. All we
had to do was charge in and finish the job.’
‘No elephants then.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Parvateshwar.
‘So we need something that we can take with us and which can be used to soften their
irregulars in order to negate their numerical superiority.’
Parvateshwar nodded. Shiva looked into the distance, towards the window, where a stiff

morning breeze caused the leaves to flutter. The leaves were green. Shiva stared harder. They
remained green.

‘I know,’ said Shiva, looking at Parvateshwar suddenly, his face luminescent. ‘Why don’t we
use arrows?’

‘Arrows?’ asked a surprised Parvateshwar.
Archery was the battle art of the most elite Kshatriyas, used for one-on-one duels.
However, since one-on-one duels could only be fought between warriors of equal chosen-
tribes, this skill was reduced to only a demonstration art of the crème de la crème. Archers
earned huge respect for their rare skill, but they were not decisive in battles. There was a time
when bows and arrows were crucial in war strategies as weapons of mass destruction. That
was the time of the daivi astras. Many of these astras were usually released through arrows.
However, with the ban on daivi astras many thousands of years ago by Lord Rudra, the
effectiveness of archery units in large-scale battles had reduced drastically.
‘How can that reduce their numerical superiority, my Lord?’ asked Vraka. ‘Even the most
skilled of archers will take at least five seconds to aim, fire and execute a kill. He will not be
able to kill more than twelve a minute. We have only one hundred Kshatriyas who are of the
gold order of archers. The rest can shoot, but their aim cannot be relied upon. So we will not
be able to kill more than one thousand two hundred of our enemies per minute. Certainly not
enough against the Chandravanshis.’
‘I am not talking about using arrows for one-on-one shooting,’ said Shiva. ‘I am talking about
using them for softening the enemy, as weapons of mass destruction.’
Disregarding the confused expressions of his audience, Shiva continued, ‘Let me explain.
Suppose we create a corps of archers of the lower Kshatriya chosen-tribes.’
‘But their aim wouldn’t be good,’ said Vraka.
‘That doesn’t matter. Let us say we have at least five thousand of those archers. Suppose
we train them to just get the range right. Forget about the aim. Suppose their job is to just keep
firing arrows in the general direction of the Chandravanshi army. If they don’t have to aim, they
can fire a lot more quickly. Maybe one arrow every two or three seconds.’
Parvateshwar narrowed his eyes as the brilliance of the idea struck him. The rest of his
brigadiers were still trying to gather their thoughts.
‘Think about it,’ said Shiva. ‘We would have five thousand arrows raining down on the
Chandravanshis every two seconds. Suppose we keep this attack on for ten minutes. An
almost continuous shower of arrows. Their irregulars would break. The arrows would have the
same effect like that of the elephants in the last war!’
‘Brilliant!’ cried Vraka.
‘And maybe,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘If the aim doesn’t matter, we could train these archers to
lie on their back, hold the bow on their feet and pull the string back nearly up to their necks and
then release. As long as their feet are pointed in the right direction, it would work.’
‘Excellent!’ exclaimed Shiva. ‘Because then the bows can be bigger. And the range longer.’
‘And the arrows bigger and thicker, almost like small spears,’ continued Parvateshwar.
‘Strong enough to even penetrate leather and thick wood shields. Only the soldiers with metal
shields, like the regulars, would be safe from this.’
‘Do we have our answer?’ asked Shiva.
‘Yes, we do,’ answered Parvateshwar with a smile. He turned towards Vraka. ‘Create this
corps. I want five thousand men ready within two weeks.’

‘It will be done, my Lord,’ said Vraka.

‘What do you want to talk about, Shiva?’ asked Parvateshwar, as he entered the metallurgy
factory. He was accompanied by Vraka and Prasanjit, as per Shiva’s request. Vraka had
reluctanly left the archery corps he had been training over the past week. However, he had
been motivated to attend with the expectation of another brilliant idea from the Neelkanth. He
was not disappointed.

‘I was thinking,’ said Shiva, ‘we would still need an equivalent of your stabbing ram to break
their centre. The centre is where I assume their general would place their regulars. As long as
they hold, our victory cannot be guaranteed.’

‘Right,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘And we have to assume that these soldiers would be disciplined
enough to stay in formation despite the barrage of arrows.’

‘Exactly,’ said Shiva. ‘We can’t transport the ram, right?’
‘No we can’t, my Lord’ said Vraka.
‘How about if we try to create a human ram?’
‘Go ahead,’ said Parvateshwar slowly, listening intendly.
‘Say we align the soldiers into a square of twenty men by twenty men,’ said Shiva. ‘Say we
have each one use his shield to cover the left half of his own body and the right half of the
soldier to the left of him.’
‘That will allow them to push their spear through between the shields,’ said Parvateshwar.
‘Exactly,’ said Shiva. ‘And the soldiers behind use their shields as a lid to cover themselves
and the soldier in front. This formation would be like a tortoise. With the shields holding against
any attack, much like a tortoise’s shell, the enemy will not be able to break through, but our
spears will cut into them.’
‘And we could have the strongest and most experienced soldiers at the front to make sure
the tortoise is well led,’ said Prasanjit.
‘No,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘Have the most experienced at the back and the sides. To make
sure that the square doesn’t break in case the younger soldiers panic. This entire formation
works only if the team stays together.’
‘Right,’ said Shiva, smiling at Parvateshwar’s quick insight. ‘And what if, instead of the usual
spears, they carried this?’
Shiva raised a weapon that he had designed and the army metallurgy team had quickly
assembled. Parvateshwar marvelled at the simple brilliance of it. It had the body of a spear.
But its head had been broadened. On to the broadened head, two more spikes had been
added, to the left and right of the main spear spike. Assaulting an enemy with this weapon
would be like striking him with three spears at the same time.
‘Absolutely brilliant Shiva,’ marvelled Parvateshwar. ‘What do you call it?’ ‘I call it a trishui.’
‘Prasanjit,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘You site in charge of creating this corps. I want at least five
tortoise formations ready by the time we march. I will assign two thousand men to you for this.’
‘It will be done, my Lord,’ said Prasanjit with a military salute.
Parvateshwar gazed at Shiva with respect. He thought Shiva’s ideas were brilliant. And the
fact that he had come up with these tactics despite his profound personal grief was worthy of

admiration. Maybe what the others say about Shiva could be true. Maybe he is the man who
will finish Lord Ram’s task. Parvateshwar hoped that Shiva would not prove him wrong.

Shiva sat in the royal meeting room, with Daksha and Parvateshwar at his side. Two
legendary Arishtanemi brigadiers, Vidyunmali and Mayashrenik, sat a distance away. A
muscular and once proud man stood in front of Shiva, his hands together, pleading.

‘Give me a chance, my Lord,’ said Drapaku. ‘If the law has been changed, then why can’t
we fight?’

Drapaku was the man whose blind father had blessed Shiva in Kotdwaar. He had been a
brigadier in the Meluhan army before the disease which blinded his father also killed his wife
and unborn child. He had been declared a vikarma along with his father.

‘First, how is your father?’ asked Shiva. ‘He is well, my Lord. And he will disown me if I don’t
support you in this dharmayudh.’

Shiva smiled softly. He too believed this was a dharmayudh, a holy war. ‘But Drapaku, who
will take care of him if something were to happen to you?’

‘Meluha will take care of him, my Lord. But he would die a thousand deaths if I didn’t go to
batde with you. What kind of a son would I be if I didn’t fight for my father’s honour? For my
country’s honour?’

Shiva still seemed a litde unsure. He could sense the discomfort of the others in the room
with this conversation. It had not escaped his notice that despite the repeal of the vikarma law,
nobody had touched Drapaku when he had entered.

‘My Lord, we are outnumbered heavily by the Chandravanshis,’ continued Drapaku. ‘We
need every trained warrior we have. There are at least five thousand soldiers who can’t battle
since they had been declared vikarma. I can bring them together. We are willing, and eager, to
die for our country’

‘I don’t want you to die for Meluha, brave Drapaku,’ said Shiva. Drapaku’s face fell instantly.
He thought he would be returning home to Kotdwaar. ‘However,’ continued Shiva. ‘I would like it
if you killed for Meluha.’

Drapaku looked up.
‘Raise your brigade, Drapaku,’ ordered Shiva. Turning towards Daksha, he continued, ‘We
will call it the Vikarma Brigade.’

‘How can we have vikarmas in our army? This is ridiculous!’ glared Vidyunmali.
Vidyunmali and Mayashrenik were in their private gym, preparing for their regular sword
training.
‘Vidyu...,’ cajoled Mayashrenik.
‘Don’t “Vidyu” me, Maya. You know this is wrong.’
The usually calm Mayashrenik just nodded and let his impetuous friend vent his frustration.
‘How will I face my ancestors if I die in this battle?’ asked Vidyunmali. ‘What will I answer if

they ask me how I let a non-Kshatriya fight a battle that only we Kshatriyas should have fought?
It is our duty to protect the weak. We are not supposed to use the weak to fight for us.’

‘Vidyu, I don’t think Drapaku is weak. Have you forgotten his valour in the previous
Chandravanshi war?’

‘He is a vikarma! That makes him weak!’
‘Lord Shiva has ordered that there are no vikarmas anymore.’
‘I don’t think the Neelkanfh truly knows right from wrong!’
‘VIDYU!’ shouted Mayashrenik.
Vidyunmali was surprised by the outburst.
‘If the Neelkanth says it is right,’ continued Mayashrenik, ‘then it is right!’

CHAPTER 22

Empire of Evil

‘This is the military formation I think ideal for the battle,’ said Parvateshwar.
Vraka and Parvateshwar were sitting in the general’s private office. The formation was that
of a bow. The soldiers would be arranged in a wide semi-circular pattern. The slower corps,
like the tortoises, would be placed at the centre. The flanks would comprise quicker units such
as the light infantry. The cavalry would be at both the ends of the bow, ready to be quickly
deployed anywhere on the front or to ride along the sides of the bow for protection. The bow
formation was ideal for a smaller army. It provided flexibility without sacrificing strength.
‘It is ideal, my Lord,’ said Vraka. ‘What does the Mahadev have to say?’
‘Shiva thinks it suits our requirements perfectly’
Vraka did not like it when Parvateshwar referred to the Neelkanth by his name. But who was
he to correct his general? ‘I agree, my Lord.’
‘I will lead the left flank,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘And you will lead the right. That is why I need
your opinion on some things.’
‘Me, my Lord?’ asked an astonished Vraka. ‘I thought the Mahadev would lead the other
flank.’
‘Shiva? No, I don’t think he would be fighting this war, Vraka.’
Vraka looked up in surprise. But he remained silent.
Parvateshwar probably felt the need to explain, for he continued speaking. ‘He is a good and
capable man, no doubt. But the uppermost desire in his mind is retribution, not justice for
Meluha. We will help him wreak vengeance when we throw the guilty Naga at his feet. He won’t
be putting his own life at risk in a war just to find one Naga.’
Vraka kept his eyes low, lest they betray the fact that he disagreed with his chief.
‘To be fair,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘We can’t impose on him just because he has a blue throat. I
respect him a lot. But I don’t expect him to fight. What reason would there be for him to do
that?’
Vraka looked up for a brief instant at Parvateshwar’s eyes. Why was his general refusing to
accept what was so obvious to everyone? Was he so attached to Lord Ram that he couldn’t
believe that another saviour had arrived on earth? Did he actually believe that Lord Ram could
be the only one? Hadn’t Lord Ram himself said that he is replaceable, only dharma is
irreplaceable?
‘Furthermore,’ continued Parvateshwar, ‘he is married now. He is obviously in love. He is not
going to risk Sati being bereaved again. Why should he? It’s unfair of us to demand this of him.’
‘Vraka thought, not daring to voice his opinion. The Mahadev will fight for all of us, General.
He will battle to protect us. Why? Because that is what Mahadevs do.’
Vraka was not aware that Parvateshwar was hoping something similar in his mind. He too

wished that Shiva would rise to be a Mahadev and lead them to victory against the
Chandravanshis. However, Parvateshwar had learned through long years of experience that
while many men tried to rise up to Lord Ram’s level, none had ever succeeded. Parvateshwar
had laid hopes on a few such men in his youth. And he had always been disillusioned at the
end. He was simply preparing himself for another such expected disappointment from Shiva. He
didn’t plan to be left without a backup if Shiva refused to fight the battle against the
Chandravanshis.

The war council sat silently as Daksha read the letter that had come back from Swadweep
— from the court of Emperor Dilipa. Daksha’s reaction upon reading the letter left no doubt as
to the message it contained. He shut his eyes, his face contorted in rage, his fist clenched tight.
He handed the letter over to Kanakhala and sneered, ‘Read it. Read it out loud so that the
whole world may be sickened by the repugnance of the Chandravanshis.’

Kanakhala frowned slightly before taking the letter and reading it out loud. ‘Emperor Daksha,
Suryavanshi liege, protector of Meluha. Please accept my deep condolences for the dastardly
attack on Mount Mandar. Such a senseless assault on peaceful Brahmins cannot but be
condemned in the strongest of terms. We are shocked that any denizen of India would stoop to
such levels. It is, therefore, with surprise and sadness that I read your letter. I assure you that
neither me nor anyone in my command has anything to do with this devious attack. Hence I
have to inform you, with regret, that there is nobody I can hand over to you. I hope that you
understand the sincerity of this letter and will not make a hasty decision, which may have
regrettable consequences for you. I assure you of my empire’s full support in the investigation
of this outrage. Please do inform us of how we can be of assistance to you in bringing the
criminals to justice.’

Kanakhala took a deep breath to compose herself. The anger over the typically
Chandravanshi doubletalk was washing right through her, making her regret her earlier stand.

‘It’s personally signed by the Emperor Dilipa,’ said Kanakhala, completing her reading of the
letter.

‘Not Emperor Dilipa,’ growled a fuming Daksha. ‘Terrorist Dilipa of the Empire of Evil!’
‘War!’ arose a cry from the council, unanimous in its rage.
Daksha looked over at a scowling Shiva who nodded imperceptibly.
‘War it is!’ bellowed Daksha. ‘We march in two weeks!’

The bracelet seemed to develop a life of its own. It had swelled to enormous proportions,
dwarfing Shiva. Its edges were engulfed in gigantic flames. The three colossal serpents, which
formed the Aum, separated from each other and slithered towards Shiva. The one in the
centre, while nodding to the snake on its left, hissed, ‘He got your brother. And the other one
will soon get your wife.’

The serpents to the left and right scowled eerily.

Shiva pointed his finger menacingly at the serpent in the centre. ‘You dare touch even a hair
on her and I will rip your soul out of...’

‘But I...’ continued the serpent, not even acknowledging Shiva’s threat. ‘I’m saving myself.
I’m saving myself for you.’

Shiva stared at the serpent with impotent rage.
‘I will get you,’ said the serpent as its mouth opened wide, ready to swallow him whole.
Shiva’s eyes suddenly opened wide. He was sweating hard. He looked around, but couldn’t
see a thing. It was extraordinarily dark. He reached out for Sati, to check if she was safe. She
wasn’t there. He was up in a flash, feeling a chill in his heart, almost expecting that the serpents
had escaped his dreams and transformed into reality.
‘Shiva,’ said Sati, looking at him.
She was sitting at the edge of the bed. The tiny military tent they slept in could not afford
the luxury of chairs. This tent had been their travelling home for the last one month as the
Meluhan army marched towards Swadweep.
‘What is it, Sati?’ asked Shiva, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. He slipped the offending
bracelet that he held tightly in his hands, back into his pouch.
When had I taken it out?
‘Shiva,’ continued Sati. She had tried to talk about this for the last two weeks. Ever since
she had been sure of the news, but had never found an opportune moment. She always
managed to convince herself that this was minor news and it would not be right for her to
trouble her husband with this, especially when he was going through one of the worst phases of
his life. But it was too late now. He had to learn from her and not somebody else. News like this
did not remain secret in an army camp for long. ‘I have something to tell you.’
‘Yes,’ said Shiva, though his dream still rankled. ‘What is it?’
‘I don’t think I will be able to fight in the war.’
‘What? Why?’ asked a startled Shiva. He knew that cowardice was a word that did not exist
in Sati’s dictionary. Then why was she telling him so? And why now, when the army had already
marched for nearly a month through the dense forests that separated Meluha from Swadweep?
They were already in enemy territory. There was no turning back. ‘Sati, this is not like you.’
‘Umm, Shiva,’ said an embarrassed Sati. Such discussions were always difficult for the
somewhat prudish Suryavanshis. ‘I have my reasons.’
‘Reasons?’ asked Shiva. ‘What...’
Suddenly the reason smacked Shiva like a silent thunderbolt.

‘My god! Are you sure?’
‘Yes,’ said Sati, bashfully.
‘By the Holy Lake! I am going to be a father?’
Seeing the ecstasy on Shiva’s face, Sati felt a pang of guilt that she hadn’t told him before.
‘Wow!’ whooped a thrilled Shiva as he swirled her in his arms. ‘This is the best news I have
heard in a long time!’
Sati smiled warmly and rested her head on his tired but strong shoulders.
‘We will name our daughter after the one who has comforted you through the last two
months, when I have been of no help,’ said Shiva. ‘We will name her Krittika!’
Sati looked up in surprise. She didn’t believe that it was possible to love him even more. But
it was. She smiled. ‘It could be a son, you know’
‘Nah,’ grinned Shiva. ‘It will be a daughter. And I’ll spoil her to high heavens!’

Sati laughed heartily. Shiva joined in. His first spirited laugh in over two months. He
embraced Sati, feeling the negative energy dissipate from his being. ‘I love you, Sati.’

‘I love you too,’ she whispered.

Shiva raised the curtain to come out of the tent that Sati was ensconced in. Krittika and
Ayurvati were with her. A retinue of nurses attended to her every need. Shiva had been
obsessive about the health of his unborn child, questioning Ayurvati incessantly about every
aspect of Sati’s well-being for the last two months of the march to Swadweep.

The Suryavanshis had moved valiantly for nearly three months. The path had been much
more challenging than expected. The forest had reclaimed its original habitat with alarming
ferocity. The army was invaded by wild animals and disease at every turn. They had lost two
thousand men. And not one to the enemy. After weeks of hacking and marching, the scouts had
finally managed to lead the Suryavanshi army to the Chandravanshis.

The Chandravanshis were camped on a sweeping plain called Dharmakhet. Their choice
was clever. A substantial and uncluttered field, it had enough room to allow the Chandravanshis
to manoeuvre their million strong army. The full weight of their numerical superiority would come
into play. The Suryavanshi army had tried to wait out the Chandravanshis, to test if they would
lose patience and attack in a less advantageous area. But the Chandravanshis had held firm.
Finally, the Suryavanshis moved camp to an easily defensible valley close to Dharmakhet.

Shiva looked up at the clear sky. A lone eagle flew overhead, circling the royal camp, while
five pigeons flew lower, unafraid of the eagle. A strange sign. His Guna shaman would have
probably said that it’s a bad time for batde, for the pigeons clearly have a hidden advantage.

Don’t think about it. It is all nonsense in any case.
Breathing in the fresh morning air deeply, he turned right, towards Emperor Daksha’s tent.
Nandi was walking towards him.
‘What is it Nandi?’
‘I was just coming towards your tent, my Lord. The Emperor requests your presence.
There’s been a troubling development’
Shiva and Nandi hurried towards Daksha’s tastefully appointed royal tent. They entered to
find Daksha and Parvateshwar engrossed in a discussion. Vraka, Mayashrenik and Drapaku
sat at a distance. Drapaku was a little further away from the rest.
‘This is a disaster,’ groaned Daksha.
‘Your Highness?’ asked Shiva.
‘My Lord! I’m glad you’re here. We face complete disaster.’
‘Let’s not use words like that, your Highness,’ said Shiva. Turning towards Parvateshwar, he
asked, ‘So your suspicions were correct?’
‘Yes,’ said Parvateshwar. ‘The scouts just returned a few minutes ago. There was a reason
the Chandravanshis were refusing to mobilise. They have despatched a hundred thousand
soldiers in a great arc around our position. They will enter our valley by tomorrow morning. We
will be sandwiched between their main force ahead of us and another hundred thousand at the
back.’
‘We can’t fight on two fronts, my Lord,’ cried Daksha.

‘What do we do?’
‘Was it Veerbhadra’s scouts who returned with the news?’ asked Shiva.
Parvateshwar nodded. Shiva turned towards Nandi, who rushed out immediately. Moments
later, Veerbhadra stood before them.
‘What route is the Chandravanshi detachment taking, Bhadra?’ asked Shiva.
‘Up the east, along the steep mountains on our side. I think they intend to enter our valley
some fifty kilometres up north.’
‘Did you take a cartographer with you as Parvateshwar had instructed?’
Veerbhadra nodded, moved to the centre table and laid out the map on it. Shiva and
Parvateshwar leaned across. Pointing to the route with his fingers, Veerbhadra said, ‘This way’.
Shiva suddenly started as he noticed the ideal defensive position on the map, deep north of
the Suryavanshi camp. He looked up at Parvateshwar. The same thought had occurred to the
General.
‘How many men do you think, Parvateshwar?’
‘Difficult to say. It will be tough. But the pass looks defendable. It will need a sizeable
contingent though. At least thirty thousand.’
‘But we can’t spare too many men. I am sure the battle with the main Chandravanshi army
to the south will also happen tomorrow. It would be the best time for them to take up positions.’
Parvateshwar nodded grimly. The Meluhans might just have to retreat and manoeuvre for a
batde on another, more advantageous position, he thought unhappily.
‘I think five thousand men ought to do it, my Lords.’
Shiva and Parvateshwar had not noticed Drapaku move to the table. He was examining the
pass that Shiva had just pointed out.
‘Look here,’ continued Drapaku, as Shiva and Parvateshwar peered.
‘The mountains ahead constrict rapidly to this pass, which is not more than fifty metres
across. It doesn’t matter how big their army is, each charge by the enemy into the pass cannot
comprise of more than a few hundred men.’
‘But Drapaku, with a hundred thousand men, they can launch one charge after another,
almost continuously,’ said Mayashrenik. ‘And with the mountains so steep on the sides, you
can’t use any of our missiles. Victory is almost impossible.’
‘It’s not about victory,’ said Drapaku. ‘It’s about holding them for a day so that our main army
can fight.’
‘I will do it,’ said Parvateshwar.
‘No, my Lord,’ said Vraka. ‘You are required for the main charge.’ Shiva looked up at
Parvateshwar.
I need to be here as well.
‘I can’t do it either,’ said Shiva, shaking his head.
Parvateshwar looked up at Shiva, disillusionment writ large on his face. While he had
prepared his heart for disappointment, he had hoped that Shiva would prove him wrong. But it
appeared clear to Parvateshwar that Shiva too would be simply watching the battìe from the
viewing platform being made for Daksha.
‘Give me the honour, my Lord,’ said Drapaku.
‘Drapaku...,’ whispered Mayashrenik, not putting in words what everyone else knew.
With only five thousand soldiers, the battle at the northern pass against the Chandravanshi
detachment was a suicide mission.

‘Drapaku,’ said Shiva. ‘I don’t know if...’
‘I know, my Lord,’ interrupted Drapaku. ‘It is my destiny. I will hold them for one day. If Lord
Indra supports me, I’ll even try for two. Get us victory by then.’
Daksha suddenly interjected. ‘Wonderful. Drapaku, make preparations to leave immediately’
Drapaku saluted smartly and rushed out before any second thoughts were voiced.

It took less than an hour before the vikarma brigade was marching out of the camp. The sun
was high up in the sky and practically the entire camp was awake, watching the soldiers set out
on their mission. Everyone knew the terrible odds the vikarmas were going to face. They knew
that it was unlikely that any of these soldiers would be seen alive again. The soldiers, though,
did not exhibit the slightest hesitation or hint of fear, as they walked on. The camp stood in
silent awe. One thought reverberated through all of them.

How could the vikarmas be so magnificent? They are supposed to be weak.
Drapaku was at the lead, his handsome face smeared with war paint. On top of his armour,
he wore a saffron angvastram. The colour of the Parmatma. The colour worn for the final
journey. He didn’t expect to return.
He stopped suddenly as Vidyunmali darted in front of him. Drapaku frowned. Before he
could react, Vidyunmali had drawn his knife. Drapaku reached for his side arm. But Vidyunmali
was quicker. He sliced his own thumb across the blade, and brought it up to Drapaku’s
forehead. In the tradition of the great brother-warriors of yore, Vidyunmali ran his blood across
Drapaku’s brow, signifying that his blood will protect him.
‘You’re a better man than me, Drapaku,’ whispered Vidyunmali.
Drapaku stood silent, astonished by Vidyunmali’s uncharacteristic behaviour.
Raising his balled fist high, Vidyunmali roared, ‘Give them hell, vikarma!’
‘Give them hell, vikarma!’ bellowed the Suryavanshis, repeating it again and again.
Drapaku and his soldiers looked around the camp, absorbing the respect that they had been
denied so long. Way too long.
‘Give them hell, vikarma!’
Drapaku nodded, turned and marched on before his emotions spoiled the moment. His
soldiers followed.
‘Give them hell, vikarma!’

It was an uncharacteristically warm morning for that time of the year.
The Chandravanshi detachment had been surprised to find Meluhan soldiers at the northern
pass the previous night. They had immediately attacked. The vikarmas had held them through
the night, buying precious time for the main Suryavanshi army. This had to be the day for the
main battle. Shiva was prepared.
Sati stood resplendent, looping the aarti thali in small circles around Shiva’s face. She
stopped after seven turns, took some vermilion on her thumb and smeared it up Shiva’s